Damaged Goods
by ivyfedora
Summary: Amy: a shy, stuttering resident with a crippling fear of fires. Dan, her ADD brother. Ian, the schizophrenic genius that's hiding a few secrets of his own and his OCD sister who hates blood. Hamilton: the guy with anger issues. Ned: the mad genius who struggles with anorexia. Isabel: their shrink. And Jonah: the rich benefactor who just wants to know where the hell his money went.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own the 39 Clues! (If you get confused, look at the bottom)**

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_Character Profiles: _

___Isabel Hollingsworth: the psychiatrist that handles the child ward in the facility. Is in charge of doses, group sessions and individual therapy. Gets paid money for every year that her young charges stay, but the wealthy investors don't need to know that. _

_Amy Cahill: Fifteen year old Amy has a stuttering problem, along with a crippling fear of fire due to a house fire at a young age. Is afraid of the dark, and has been at the Facility as long as her brother. _

_Dan Cahill: Twelve year old Dan has an ADD problem, although not as exaggerated as he pretends it is. Otherwise, who would look after his big sister, Amy? Obsesses over ninjas, Skittles and what tomorrow's lunch will be. Not as average as he appears, and he tries to shoulder all the weight off his shy older sister, since she obviously would freak if she found out a twelve year old was handling their dead parents' stock. _

_Ned Starling: Seventeen year old Ned Starling is the resident mad genius. He doesn't want to eat, and is reported to have hallucinations about his sister who died in a car accident. His parents checked him in one day, but never checked him back out. They sometimes visit on holidays, bearing expensive gifts that he doesn't want. Ned's case file spans eight years and many high-end psychologist's opinions. When he does talk, it's sarcastic, biting comments that make the other residents shy away from his quick tongue. But those who look past the annoyed genius persona will see that something just doesn't add up with this boy. _

_Jonah Wizard: Seventeen year old Jonah Wizard is the son of the largest benefactor of Hollingworth's Facility For Troubled Adults, as well as its sister clinic, Hollington's Facility for Troubled Youth. Is undercover as a clinically depressed patient, in order to figure out where exactly in hell two or three million dollars that were supposed to be for a new ward, wound up going. _

_Hamilton Holt: Seventeen year old Hamilton Holt has major anger problems. His parents died in a fire, leaving him and his two twin sisters behind. Couldn't handle foster care due to anger management issues, and was about to go to a juvenile detention center when his uncle, a retired major league football player, pulled some strings and landed him in a place for rich kids with issues. Most of the time, he's just itching for a good game of football. _

_Natalie Kabra: Ian's obsessive compulsive little sister, who can't stand irregular circles, blood and germs. Carries an expensive purse around at all times, but it's hiding the paper bags and inhalers for the sudden panic attacks. Still manages to act like the blue-blood she is, and hates the drab grey uniform. Doesn't like to talk to the "peasants" named Amy and Dan, even though she's been there for almost as long as they have. Such an outrage; they're letting peasants in now? _

_Ian Kabra: schizophrenic, but is hiding a few secrets of his own. Just three more years, then he'll turn eighteen and be out. Has a few college degrees under various pseudonymous names, more than enough to feign a mild case of whatever that incompetent shrink diagnosed him with._

_The Man In Black: An urban legend that has been flying around the residents for as long as the center's been opened. No one knows why, or who he is, but what they do know is that sometimes, patients disappear without any paper trail. Their names are erased from the system, their stuff is packed up in neat little boxes, but the strange part is: nobody sees them go. _

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**A.N. Okay, so that's the character profiles for the new story idea! I should have the first chapter up in a week or so. ~ivy**


	2. Chapter 2

**A.N. Hey, guys! I was going to PM everyone who reviewed and try to answer their questions, but my internet is crappy. :( Ted doesn't exist in this universe, and Madison and Reagan are still in foster care, the family that couldn't handle their brother.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the 39 Clues! **

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_"I invite you to a world where there is no such thing as time, and every creature lends themself to change your state of mind."  
~ All Time Low - Her Name Is Alice ~_

Part One: Ned

He tipped the handful of pills down his throat, swallowing obediently. The nurse smiled tiredly at him, patting his hand distractedly.

"Good boy, Ned," he said, left hand already moving to his breast pocket, where his pen was. Slashing a line through the little black box labled "compliant," he recapped his pen and returned it to his pocket.

After the metallic close of the door, the boy gingerly felt the stash of pills squirreled away in his cheek. He swallowed the flat ones first, leaving the large one (he knew it was purple from memory) for last. Swishing a mouthful of water around, he smiled grimly. By the first day, he'd figured out that the drugs they were administering weren't helping. By the second, he'd started taking the green ones first, which diluted the sleeping and mind dulling effects of the large purple pill.

Ned Starling sighed, looking at the padded white walls he'd known for eight years. Over there was a little hole in the wall, when he'd been naive and tried to dig his way out, _with a plastic spoon_. Behind the bed was a dent in the wall, where his constant tossing and turning had created a permanent mark.

He stared blankly at the nice, neat little green notebook that contrasted so sharply with the monotony of the grey sheets and white walls. Opening it, he made a halfhearted pen mark in the next page. The pages were full of tiny pen marks, counting the twenty-nine thousand and twenty days he'd been here.

Of course, that wasn't counting the two leap days, not that forty-eight hours mattered in the eight years he'd been stuck here.

The redheaded boy headed down to breakfast, sleeve sliding up when he closed the door. The cold air hit his scarred wrists, and he winced at the sudden chill, pulling the gray sleeve as far as it could go.

Somehow, today he wasn't hungry for breakfast, where the people would stuff themselves full of calories, oh, calories were bad. They were walking whales, and didn't even know it.

Today, he would stick a sickly smile on his face and walk out there like usual. They thought he'd gotten better, but he'd just gotten better at _lying_. Usually, he'd make it through the day without anyone seeing anything.

The excuses were so easy. Like, "I'm not feeling well," or, "I ate before I came." He had to save the first one for emergencies, because the doctors had almost done a stomach pump to check.

He wasn't really hungry, but then again, he never was.

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Part Two: Jonah

Jonah ran a hand through his cropped hair, leaning against the padded walls: one of the many things he detested about this place.

The first time he'd been here on "official" business, a peppy looking nurse had shown him around a well-kept garden, where adult patients groomed the plants.

"Where are the kids, yo?" he'd asked, puzzled. Wasn't this supposed to be a joint enterprise?

The nurse had stuttered out her response, apologizing for the bad scheduling. Sorry, she had said, looking ashamed. The children are at breakfast right now, and will be out presently.

Currently, he was scowling on his bed. It offered a wonderful view of the garden, which no patient under eighteen had entered since he'd arrived.

Another lie told by the head shrink: Isabel Hollingsworth. If he wanted to know where exactly in hell the money he and his parents had poured into this clinic went, he'd have to be the smallest fish in the ocean: a patient.

To be honest, he wasn't really sure what to expect. Would they be like those news stories he saw on t.v, where little children were traumatized by the untimely death of their parents? Or would they be cheerful, up to the point where they killed you and stuffed your body in their toy box?

"Hello," said the nurse, opening the thick, soundproof doors. "Good thing you arrived in time for breakfast; that's the best time to meet new friends!"

In the cheerfully painted yellow cafeteria, there were seats going up and down a long wooden table. A British looking brother and sister pair sat next to each other on the right side, followed by a redheaded girl who was chattering to a muscled blonde guy. A shorter boy with brown hair in his eyes sat across from them, rolling his eyes; probably the girl's brother.

A few seats down sat a red-headed figure, who had was either a girl, or a very effeminate boy. He (or she, Jonah supposed) was next to the only empty seat in the place, a few spaces down from the rest of the group, like they didn't know what to make of him.

He looked exhausted, even more so than the rest of them. Dark rings circle their eyes, but his are like craters. For some reason, he winces every time his sleeve gets caught on the back of his chair.

His green eyes would have been wowing the girls, had he been normal, but now they're like deadly pools of acid.

"This is Ian," says the nurse, gesturing me to sit down and help myself to the food. There's a wide spread of breakfast foods, but not much of it seems to be touched. "And this is Natalie. They're siblings, isn't that nice?"

Two pairs of amber eyes look up at me, but it's as if they're looking right through me. _Oh great_, the boy's eyes say. _Another person I'm stuck with. _The girl pokes her fork back into her oatmeal, which looks like it came straight out a food catalog, right down to the perfect arrangement of blueberries on top.

"Amy," she says, pointing to the girl who'd moments before been talking animatedly to the blonde guy. Now, she peers at me behind a curtain of hair shyly. I guess she's one of those people who don't like strangers.

"Dan," is the shorter, brown haired boy who was scarfing down some sort of rainbow sugary cereal earlier.

"Hamilton," is the guy who emits a hostile aura from himself, chomping down on his breakfast pizza with a sickening crunch.

And the ginger with the acid eyes is Ned Starling, my new best friend. He's supposed to show me around the place, introduce me to the staff and get me to be, uh, normal.

I'm itching to ask questions, but it seems kind of personal, a mental disease. Besides, how would you ask that politely?

"Uh, since I'm going to be spending awhile with you, could you tell me if you're going to, uh, kill me in my sleep?"

"Hi, my name is Jonah. I'm clinically depressed, how about you?" Definitely no; that reeked of bipolar.

The nurse came back later, and spent an unusually long time scrutinizing Ned's plate. Pointedly looking straight at the nurse, he took a few large bites out of a bagel, and his apple. When he looked away, he spat two of those mouthfuls into a crumpled napkin. Huh, strange.

"Hey," I said, drinking a glass of orange juice. "What's up?"

I felt everyone's gazes shift to me, watching me like a freak show. Is this how people look at them?

There was an amused silence as the other residents enjoyed watching me make a fool out of myself trying to talk to the almost-silent Ned. He cracked a few grins that looked pained, but it was obvious he wished he was somewhere else.

Ned's eyes narrowed into dark green slits as the nurse explained the duties he'd have for the next week or so, just until I got settled in. It was a complete one-eighty from his attempted smiles a moment ago, but now he looked like he wanted to kill me with his silverware, a flowery pink plastic spoon.

Very manly.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own the 39 Clues, or Cahills vs. Vespers!**

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Part Three: Ian

_"I wish I was strong enough, to lift not one, but both of us,  
Someday I will be strong enough, to lift not one, but both of us." _

_~ B.o.b. ft. Taylor Swift - Both of Us ~  
_

Ian drummed his fingers against the table impatiently. That accursed shrink was taking too long for someone who'd been paid top-notch money for taking care of a few insane delinquents.

He dealt with an annoying blonde receptionist that kept repeating, "Do you have an appointment?" over again in the same pleasant voice. Yes, he wanted to scream in her face, admit to her that this well-composed young man _lived_ here, that he was one of them.

A crazy.

Yes, that girl didn't know how lucky she was to not have her head ripped off.

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After what seemed like an hour, Dr. Hollingsworth herself appeared.

"Nice of you to grace us with your presence," she noted, giving a dry smile and sitting down in her doctor's chair.

"Well," Ian said brusquely. "It's not like I have anything better to do." _Besides watch over my little sister, you git_, he added mentally. _Wait until I turn eighteen, you'll be fired so fast, your head will spin._

"Do sit down," she invited, pointing to the leather recliner in the brightest lit, most cheerful corner in existence. He wanted to refuse and walk out

But right now, he was fifteen, a minor and according to the state of Massachusetts, certifiably insane. And most importantly, he couldn't be Natalie's legal guardian. Natalie was vulnerable, he couldn't just leave his sister alone in a place like this!

Better to be trapped with her, than outside looking in.

Better to be that teenage boy everyone envies, except he's got_ problems_. That was the polite way to put it: _problems_ with little air quotes around it. Probably Jonah would learn from that boy with razor-blades for a mouth, that there was a certain way that this place was run.

You were either 'half-sies,' in the sense that you were only _half_-bad, if that was possible, or you had 'problems,' which meant you were here to stay. Nurses treated you differently if you were only half-sies, because that meant you could be getting out soon. Of course, that was nurses in general and not the terror that ran Hall 1A: Mrs, as one of the inmates called her. No last name, no first name, just 'Mrs.'

Why build familiarity with your jailer?

He knew the brother/sister group with green eyes were half-sies, or at least the boy was.

Holt, he definitely had problems.

Ned was borderline; walking the fence between half-sies and problems. If he didn't quiet that tongue of his, a nurse might report him the problem-type simply out of spite.

Natalie was...she had problems.

So the great genius that was Ian Kabra sat down and had a very fulfilling psychology session with this shrink, even though it was _killing_ him inside to be thought 'crazy,' and know he was sane.

Because it would save his sister from being put into foster care when she was released, which was worth much more than a thousand and ninety-five days of boredom.

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Part Four: Jonah

"So," I ask, running to keep up with my new best friend. "What's it like in uh, Sunny Times Home for the Insane and Depressed? They treat you good?"

Ned turns to the side ever so slightly, shooting me a death glare. "And I had to get stuck with the brainless eunuch," he grouses to the heavens, turning his searing gaze away from me for once.

Oh, that's rather nice of him- hey! This guy has pretty good vocabulary for a insane person!

"Do you have to do laundry?" I wonder aloud, following my tour guide down the hall. "Cause that would suck..."

"Quit doing that," he replies irritably. Death glare number two, right between the eyes. Today is not my day.

"Doing what?"

He points to a room, changing the subject abruptly. "The occupants of rooms ones through five you've already met at breakfast. And your room is the last one from the left, right next to mine.

"And there are nurses at _every_ post, which are located by the stairs. You have to get privileges for those."

For stairs? I think incredulously. What sane person would hurt themselves going two flights of stairs?

Then I remember, oh yeah; I'm in a place for _insane_ people. Makes sense. But I need access to the second floor if I'm to investigate all of this different money, and to get that, I apparently need this 'stair-pass.'

"So, do you have them?" I probe. "I could meet you later or something," I lie smoothly, but he rolls his eyes. "Fancy a game of Scrabble?"

"Jonah," he says slowly, as if to an idiot. I guess, to him, the reclusive genius boy, I am. "We. live. on. the. first. freaking. floor. What need have you for _stairs_, if you live on the same floor as pretty much everyone else?"

"You don't go up there anymore?"

The look on his face makes me feel like an idiot in comparison, yet again. "I penguin-sled down the stairs every morning," he quips, a hard line to his jaw. "I got mine taken away the first day. Stupid nurse."

"So how do you get up to the game room?"

"I fly," he says sarcastically, then looks a bit pensive and maybe little...wistful. "I don't think I've been up there for months, years even. There was a marble chess board, with all of the pieces, not the shabby version they've got rotating around. And there's an older boy on that floor, and he plays chess _really _well, almost as good as my sis."

Then he turns back into Ned: the greatest jerk that ever lived. "But anyway, that was then and this is now," he says briskly, as if cleansing his hands from the memory.

"You want it?" I ask, dangling the possibility in front of him. He's so cool and collected, that he doesn't even show his desire. Or maybe it's not even there; for all I know, the older boy might have died, and the chess board lost with him.

But I do know that Ned has something I want: knowledge. He's been here the longest; surely he's heard the tales about disappearing inmates or missing money.

"Bring it, and let's see," he states, then walks away. I chase after him, confused. "Hey! Where are you going?"

"The lavatories," Ned states with a wicked grin. "Nurse wanted a complete tour; well, you're getting one."


End file.
